Lisa Jackson - Obsession

“Low profile?” she repeated, trying to get a grip on herself as she walked past him into the kitchen. She couldn’t let him see her falling apart; she’d fought hard for her independence and she had to prove to him—and to herself—that she was able to take care of herself. She picked up a small pitcher and began watering the small pots of African violets behind her sink. But as she moved the glass pitcher from one small blossom to the next, the stream of water spilled on the blue tiles. She mopped up the mess with a towel and felt Zane’s eyes watching her, taking stock of her nervousness. “And what do you think I should do?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

His gaze, so rock steady it was maddening, met hers. “First of all, install new locks—a couple of dead bolts and a security system. State-of-the-art equipment.”

“With lasers and sirens and a secret code?” she mocked, trying to break the tension.

“With motion detectors and alarms. But that won’t be enough. If Johnston’s released, you’ll need me, Kaylie. It’s as simple as that.”

Desperate now, she tried to joke. “You? As what? My bodyguard again?” She watched him flinch. “I don’t think so—”

His hand shot out and he caught her wrist, spinning her around. She dropped her dish towel. “I’m serious, Kaylie,” he assured her, his voice low, nearly threatening. “This is nothing to joke about!”

Was he out of his mind? The inside of her wrist felt hot, and she fought the urge to lick her lips.

“And I think it would be best if you took some time off—”

“Now, wait a minute, I can’t leave the station high and dry!”

“Your career just about did you in before,” he reminded her, then glanced down to where his fingers were wrapped around her arm. Slowly he withdrew his hand. “You need a less visible job.” Then, as if realizing his request bordered on the ridiculous, he wiped his palms on his jeans and added, “Why don’t you just ask for a leave of absence until this mess with Johnston is straightened out?”

“No way. I’m not going to live the rest of my life in high anxiety—especially over some stupid call.” Though she was afraid, she couldn’t give in to the fear that had numbed her after Johnston’s last attack. And the man was still locked away.

Tossing her damp curls over her shoulder, she reached down and grabbed the towel from the floor. Her wrist, where Zane had held it so possessively only seconds before, still burned, but she ignored the sensation, refused to rub the sensitive spot where the pads of his fingers had left their impressions.

“Look, Kaylie,” he said, his voice edged with exasperation. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“And I appreciate it,” she replied, though they both knew she was lying, that the question of her independence had been a determining factor in their divorce. “I—I’ll take care of myself, Zane. Thanks for the warning,” she heard herself say, though a part of her screamed that she was crazy to let him go—that she needed him to keep her safe. She extended her hand, palm up. “Now, I think you have something of mine?” When he didn’t move, she prodded him again. “The keys?”

Zane’s eyes darkened to the shade of storm clouds.

Her heart began to pound. He wasn’t giving up. She could see his determination in the set of his jaw.

“How about a deal?” he suggested, not moving.

“Believe me, I’m not in the mood.”

“The keys for a date.”

“For a date? Get real—”

“I am, Kaylie. You go out with me, just for old times’ sake, and I’ll turn the keys over to you.”

“And in the meantime you won’t make an extra set?”

“We’ll go tonight. I won’t have time to do anything so devious.”

Kaylie wasn’t so sure. And she was tempted, far more than she wanted to be. Standing so close to Zane, seeing the shading of his eyes, feeling the raw masculinity that was so uniquely his, she was lured into the prospect of spending some time with him again. There had been a time in her life when he’d been everything. From bodyguard to lover to husband. Her life with him had seemed so natural, so right…until the horrid night when their safe little world was thrown upside down. All because of Lee Johnston.

Kaylie had fallen in love with Zane, trusted him, relied upon him. Now her throat grew dry, and she shook all the happy memories aside. She couldn’t trust herself when she thought of the first magic moments they’d shared—when their love had been new and fresh, before Zane had become so intolerably overprotective and domineering. No. Her dependence on him was long over. Now she was older, and wiser, and on to his tricks. She wouldn’t repeat past mistakes. “I don’t think a date would be such a good idea.”

“Come on, Kaylie, what’ve you got to lose?” he asked, his voice low and disturbingly familiar.

Everything she thought, her palms beginning to sweat.

“You’ve got other plans tonight?” he asked.

“No—”

“No date with Alan?” he mocked, obviously referring to the ridiculous article in The Insider. Her producer had left a copy of the rag on her desk as a joke. She wasn’t engaged to Alan and never would be, but no amount of denial to the press had seemed to change the public’s view that she and Alan, who had once been costars of Obsession and were now cohosts of a popular morning show, were not lovers.

“No date with Alan,” she said dryly.

“Then there’s no reason not to spend a little time with me. Come on,” he insisted, his smile irresistible.

“But—” Why not? It’s just a few hours, a voice inside her head teased. Wouldn’t it be nice to rely on him just a little and find out what he really knows about Lee Johnston? What could it hurt? She looked up at him and swallowed hard. There was a tiny part of her, a feminine part she tried to deny, that loved Zane’s image of power and brooding masculinity, that being around him did make her feel warm inside. But being around Zane was unsafe—her emotions were still much too raw.

“Let’s go. I know a great place in the mountains. You can tell me all about your career as a talk-show hostess and maybe you’ll be able to convince me that you’ll take all the precautions necessary to keep you safe from Johnston.”

“Okay,” she finally agreed, telling herself she wasn’t excited about the prospect of spending time with him. “But I’ll need time to change.”

“I’ll wait,” he said amiably as he walked back to the bar. She watched him pour a drink, as she’d watched him a hundred times before. His shirt was a dark blue. His sleeves were pushed over his forearms to expose dark-skinned muscles that moved fluidly as he handled the bottle and glass. And his hands… She shouldn’t even look at his long, sensual fingers and blunt-cut nails.

She swallowed hard against the memories—erotic memories that she’d hoped she’d forgotten. His gaze found hers in the mirror over the bar, and he smiled a little sexy smile. Her insides quivered.

Turning quickly, before she stared any longer, she headed for the bedroom and told herself that she was a fool, but now that she’d committed herself, somehow she’d get through the evening ahead.

Zane tried to ignore the disturbing sensations—sensations that were way out of line. Kaylie was his ex-wife for crying out loud, and here he was, pouring himself another drink, feeling like a teenager in the throes of lust. Returning to this house—this cottage by the sea where he and Kaylie had spent hours making love—had probably been a mistake of colossal proportions, but he’d had no choice. Not if he wanted his plan to work. And he did. More than anything.